A Thin, Red Line
by TearsOfNightfall - Rowan Rook
Summary: Three years after parting ways with Gon, Killua's already troubled life falls apart when he is blamed for the murder of his former best friend. Chasing Gon's ghost in search of answers and justice, he finds himself treading dangerously close to not only conspiracy, but his old, violent ways.
1. Chapter 1: Killer

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hunter x Hunter, or any related characters or concepts. Hunter x Hunter is owned by author Yoshihiro Togashi, along with Shonen Jump, Madhouse Studios, and various other persons and companies involved with the creation and/or publishing of the series. This is simply a fan-work written for entertainment purposes only.

_Hey, there. Well, this is my first fanfic in a while. I generally write original fiction nowadays, but I missed the simple fun of fanfiction. With its great characters, concepts, and character development, Hunter x Hunter became not only one of my favorite animes quickly after I started watching it, but one of my favorite stories. In particular, I found Killua's character development and his relationships with Gon, his family, and other characters interesting, so I thought it would be fun to write a fic that focused on that. However, this will be a rather dark fic, so "fun" might not be the best word, but the grimmer side of things can still be fun in its own way. Also, there is a more detailed summary available on my profile, if you'd like a better idea of where this is going._

_Note: This fic is **based off of the Hunter x Hunter 2011 anime adaption**. Nothing that happened, or that will happen (assuming Togashi starts writing again), in manga chapters that take place after the anime's ending is relevant to this particular fic. Think of it as an **AU** that splits off from the canon after the last episode of the 2011 adaption._

_With that said, enjoy~_

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**  
**-killer**-

* * *

"Do you know why you're here?"

Color was gone from the world. Nothing remained but gray walls and gray tile. The concrete surged in on him with each inhale and swam away with each exhale, pulsing like the inside of a panicked heart. Light rained down from the roof and smeared in his eyes. He blinked the water away, sucking it back down with a shaky breath that stunk of smoke and rust.

...Here? Where was here, anyway?

_He stopped, knuckles freezing inches from the door. Wait. He didn't need to knock, he realized. It hung open just a crack...a crack just wide enough to render the lock useless. For a while, he simply stood there, staring down the door to room 116. Why would it already be open like that? The dark, silent slit offered no answer. He sucked in the air to call out, but it died in his throat. Something was wrong._

His head throbbed to the hum of the harsh, florescent white above him. Each time he moved it, the whole world wavered, blurring into splatters of black and white. The rest of his senses drifted behind his eyes, while his mind chased after his nose and ears, trying to escape the pounding in his skull. The images wouldn't go away.

_He smelled it as soon as he entered the room. The black drowned out his eyes and smothered the rest of his senses, but the sweet, metallic tang cut through the shadows like the edge of a knife. He knew what it was without thought or doubt. It was something all too familiar, something that traced the scars in his memories with cold fingers. Blood._

Oh. His eyes stopped on the surface of the table beneath him. The dim light turned the steel into a mirror, and his own face stared back up at him. Blood. Blood smeared his cheeks, painted streaks in his hair, stained his suit.

_His fingers found the light switch, and after a final beat of hesitation, flipped it. The world turned red._

That's right...

"You arrested me for murder."

He was in the interrogation room of the local sheriffs' office. He'd wound up covered in blood when the cops had pushed him down. Cuffed him. Dragged him to the car. Forced him all the way to that gray box.

The boy raised his head, looking at the officer sitting across from him for the first time. Something shifted in the older man's face when they locked eyes.

"You were detained under suspicion of murder, yes." The cop confirmed, hands folded on the table. "We need to start off with a few questions."

They really thought he did it, huh? How funny. How completely and utterly stupid. He almost laughed.

_Crimson pooled on the kitchen tile. Sixteen. The body had been stabbed sixteen times. Sixteen red rips. Sixteen bloodied slits. The logical part of his mind counted each gash even while the rest of him stopped. Dead. The familiar figure on the kitchen floor was dead._

He hadn't even heard the officers coming when they'd tackled him from behind. He hadn't resisted, following along with them like he was following the whims of a dream. His mind lingered there in that room, heavy with shock and the smell of blood, even as his legs had walked him to the police car. Now, he found himself chained to a chair.

He looked up at the single lamp above the table. Its electrical hum burned his bleary senses. Too loud. He'd trained his ears to listen for the buzz of electricity, but sometimes, the noise was grating, like a fly he couldn't kill. He let his eyes chase quieter hums around the room. A heater, a PDA in the officer's pocket, one-way speakers, a security lock on the door. Yeah. He could escape whenever he needed to. Slight relief sent the tension out of his muscles, but his stomach only sunk deeper in his gut, twisted in knots. His limbs dangled like rope weighted with lead. He didn't have it in him to make a break for it, not yet. The numbness was starting to wear off.

"We could make this easy." The officer offered. "Just tell us the truth, and this'll all be over quickly. Up to you."

The boy didn't say anything, silently staring down the stranger. The officer was a plump man, probably in his late thirties. He was well-dressed for the job, complete with a notepad and pen poking from his pocket and a badge displayed proudly on his lapel, but his hair was greasy, unkempt. Black bags hung beneath world-weary eyes. The type of man who didn't have anyone to impress at home, but still took his job seriously. Someone who had no choice but to. A divorced father of multiple, probably. Heh. This guy was hardly a threat.

"I'm going to ask you flat out." The officer straightened. "Did you murder the victim found in room 116 of the Equinox Inn?"

"No." Something inside him twitched, and his lips curled into a smirk before he could stop them. "But I have killed lots of people, back when I was a kid. I don't even know how many." He heard his own voice, but hardly registered the words. His mouth was moving on its own, bypassing his brain. "You could arrest me for that, if you wanted to."

For a while, the man didn't say anything. He finally answered with an incredulous blink. "Sure you did." His voice oozed sarcasm. "We aren't here to talk about anything like that. We're here to talk about what happened tonight."

"Don't believe me?" He leaned in closer. "I could show you." Venom dripped from his tongue. "I could get out of these cuffs and kill you in less than five seconds. You'd be dead before you got the chance to scream."

This time, something changed in the cop's face. His features paled, sinking with anxiety before he masked it with anger. "You better watch what you say. You're already in a whole lot of trouble here – you wouldn't want someone to actually take you seriously, hmm?"

The boy laughed, his whole body shuddering.

What was wrong with him? Some logical part of him knew that he should stop - that he wasn't helping his case - but somehow, he couldn't. Rage boiled black in his stomach and escaped his mouth as bitter poison.

"All right." The officer sucked in a breath and brushed bangs off his sweaty brow. "If you're going to play this game, we're going to start at the very beginning. What's your name?"

"Killua Zoldyck." He answered, watching the cop's face for any recognition. He didn't find any. A shame – that really would've given the guy a good scare. The Zoldycks were seen as untouchable by the law. When they eventually figured it out – when they realized that he had, indeed, murdered more people than anyone else who'd ever sat in that chair – they'd probably let him walk away, scot-free . Funny how that worked. They'd come up with new fiction to feed the press, and blame the crime on someone else – someone safer. "What's _your_ name?"

The man twitched, nerves showing despite his best efforts. "We don't give out that information."

Killua fell into another round of raucous laughs, even as his mind screamed at him to stop.

The officer swallowed. "Your age?" He asked, trying to keep things moving.

"Seventeen." Killua answered simply. He caught the irritation creasing the older man's face. In the eyes of the law, he was still a kid for one more year. Minors didn't face the same punishments adults did.

"What do you do, then?" The cop continued. "Do you work? Attend school?"

Killua flashed the cop a smile. "I'm a Hunter."

"A Hunter?" The man didn't mask his surprise. "That explains your connection to the victim, then."

The boy's smirk fell into a frown. Stupid. The cop didn't know anything, not even how clueless he really was.

"Tell me, do you know who the victim was?" The officer pressed. "Did you know him personally?"

Time stopped. Killua's hot anger changed, tying itself in cold knots. He swallowed before he could speak. "Gon Freecss." He answered. "I knew him. He was my best friend, once."

There was a silence. He couldn't hold the stranger's gaze anymore. His eyes drifted away from the detective and up to the florescent glow above them.

"Oh?" The cop blinked. "You were close, then? Or had been? I need you to tell me more about that. What was your relationship like, recently?"

Killua didn't answer, staring up at the cold electric light. He didn't want to.

The man waited a good few minutes. "Fine." He gave up with a frustrated tap on the table. "We can come back to that later."

Killua didn't answer.

"For now, how about you tell me what you were doing at the scene? You say you didn't commit the crime, but something must've brought you to room 116 after midnight, huh?"

"I was there to see him!" Killua snapped. "He was my friend! I..." He stopped, voice snagging in his throat. "There was a party all evening. A party for Hunters. He was there, but he was busy, so we didn't get to talk. He sent me a text after it was over, inviting me to hang out with him at the hotel. It was late, but I hadn't seen him in years, so..."

"What happened when you arrived?" The officer leaned in closer, like a child listening to some wonderful, suspenseful story. "What happened inside that room?"

"Nothing." Killua forced himself to meet the man's eyes. "He was dead when I walked in."

"You're lying." The cop accused, vindicated. "We have two distinct witnesses who say they saw you enter that room while the victim was still alive. He let you in himself, they say, and they heard screaming a few minutes later. Both of them called the police. That's how we found you."

...What?

That wasn't true! It blatantly wasn't true! That wasn't how it...

The world closed in on him with a cold surge of realization.

Someone had set him up.

Someone had made sure he'd stumble across the crime scene, someone had called the police, and someone had waited for him to take the blame.

...Had that text even been from Gon at all?

He shivered, the hair rising on the nape of his neck.

"No arguments?" The officer raised a brow. "Didn't think anyone would notice you going inside, did you?"

"Wait!" Killua straightened. "What time did he...what time did he die? Where was his phone?"

He wasn't going to be able to sway the opinion of a cop who'd already made up his mind, not with two 'witnesses' against him and no alibi after leaving the party. He was going to have to make a break for it. First, though...first, he may as well try and make what sense he could of this nightmare he'd wandered into.

The officer blinked, unsure whether he should answer. "I can't tell you much...but I can tell you that we don't know for sure, yet." He scratched the back of his head. "The carnage makes it hard for our examiners to tell."

"Oh." Killua sucked in an involuntary breath and held it. His own insides twisted.

"As for the phone, we haven't found it yet."

"What about the cause of death?" He bit back the images still burning in the back of his skull. "Was he still alive, when...?" Sixteen. Nausea ripped through him. He'd seen death way too many times before, but it'd never left him like this. His whole reality felt off, thrown off balance while time ticked by without him. Was this how a normal person was supposed to feel?

"Even if our examiners knew, I couldn't talk about that." The cop leveled his gaze. "Unless, of course, you want to answer your own questions. What do you know about all this? The phone? The time? The weapon?"

"I know the make and model of the cell. It's one of those old beetle phones." More than likely, anyway – Gon had never changed his number. "I also know that the text came in at around 11. That's all."

There was another silence.

"You're playing with me." The officer accused. "This is all some game to you, isn't it?"

Killua blinked up at him.

"You talk about death like it's nothing and do whatever you can to keep from answering my questions." His frustration rolled off his tongue. "You're just biding time, but it's not going to make any difference. I'm not going to let you walk. You murder a friend and have the gall to sit in that chair and laugh? You're despicable."

Something buried a long time ago broke loose and sunk into Killua's gut. "I didn't do it." He whimpered, the venom suddenly gone from his voice. "I don't kill anymore!"

The cop smirked, satisfied at the shift. "Except it doesn't work that way, does it? Once you kill, something inside you breaks that can't be fixed. I've seen it time and again. It becomes an instinct – an urge you can't control. That's what happened, isn't it?"

Killua glared blue daggers into the cop's narrowed eyes.

"Maybe you didn't intend to hurt your friend at all. Maybe you've really convinced yourself that you haven't." He leaned across the table, breath stinking of coffee. "But once you got inside that room, something went wrong. Maybe he said something you didn't like. Maybe some old grudge came up. Who knows? Either way, something set you off, and you ripped him apart before you could stop yourself."

Killua barely managed a gulp.

"You want to know what I think?" The cop tilted his head. "I think you were jealous."

Killua said nothing.

"You aren't a very successful Hunter, are you?"

The boy grimaced. No, he wasn't. Not anymore.

"My son's something of an enthusiast. He's always going on and on about all the famous Hunters out there. I've never heard your name. But even I know who the victim was. He was a celebrity in his own right." The man frowned. "You say you were friends, but you didn't share in his success. Something must've happened between you. Or maybe you just didn't get what you felt you deserved compared to your childhood colleague. Is that why you did this?"

"You're wrong!" Killua leapt to his feet, but the chains pulled him down. "I saved his life! I was always the one protecting him! I did everything –"

"That's just it, isn't it?" Excitement flashed through the cop's eyes when he saw the opportunity and snatched it. "You did so much for him, but you never really got much in return, did you? Maybe he forgot about you all together as he became famous. He didn't help you when you were the one who needed it most." He smiled with faux sympathy. "You were just angry. That's understandable. You didn't intend to kill him. Everything just got out of hand."

Electric rage bristled through Killua's tense muscles. He knew how these guys worked. The cop was trying to read him – trying to break him. He'd throw out any stupid theory he could think of, just to measure his reaction. He'd look for new cracks to try and squeeze himself into, until finally, the boy shattered, and said what the man wanted him to say.

Killua forced himself to hold the stare. "You can come up with whatever stupid story you want. It doesn't matter, because I didn't do it."

"Really?" The man straightened. "Or is that just what you want to believe?"

Killua's voice was as icy as his eyes. "You just want to wrap this case up fast because of the press its going to get. Because Gon was famous. You don't really care about what happened, about _him_, at all!" He paused to swallow down the lump in his throat. "You just don't get anything."

"Oh?" Another arch of the brow. "Explain it to me, then. What don't I 'get'? Because I feel like I've gotten quite a lot already."

Killua didn't say anything. He wasn't going to bother.

"Look," the cop offered, "just give me a few more answers for my notes, and I'll leave you alone for a while. Give you time to think on all this, hmm?"

If he made that satisfied smirk one more time, Killua swore he wouldn't be able to stop himself from breaking free and ripping it right off his face.

"Where do you currently live?" The cop continued, oblivious. "Do you have parents we need to notify?"

He sucked down another laugh. "No." Definitely not. "I'm a traveler. I don't really live anywhere."

"If you don't live here, then what brought you to this city?"

"Money, mostly. My sister is sick, so..." He stopped. Where was Alluka, anyway? He'd wanted her to head back to their own hotel while he was gone, but she'd insisted on hanging out with a group of other girls staying late at the party, and he'd reluctantly agreed, promising her that he wouldn't be gone for more than a couple of hours. He didn't even know what time it was anymore.

"Sister?" The officer blinked. "You mean the cross-dresser throwing a tantrum in the lobby?"

Ah. Well, she was safe, at least. "Alluka's just a normal girl." He corrected, almost automatically. "She shouldn't be out here. Have someone tell her that I'm okay – that she should go back to our room."

That Alluka knew he'd been arrested at all meant that rumors had already reached the lingering party goers. Crap. If his reputation as a Hunter was already ruined, this was going to destroy it all together.

The man gave him another blink, but nodded. "Do you travel together, then?"

He nodded in turn. "We needed to stay somewhere where I could find enough work to pay for her treatments, and somewhere with a decent hospital. I came for the party, too." He admitted. "I wanted to do some networking, see if I could get better jobs." He could forget about that idea, now. "And, I..." He stopped, looking away.

"Go on."

"I guess I did kinda want to see him. Gon. I thought he might be there at the party."

He could forget about that idea, now, too.

The man folded his hands back into their neat little knot on the table. "So you were seeking him out, then?"

Killua shot him another glare. "Were you listening at all? He's the one who invited me!" He hesitated. "I mean, I did send him a text earlier, but it wasn't anything like –"

"Wait. You sent a text?" The cop sat back in his chair, as if he were planning on staying there a good while longer. "How about you just start from there and go over the whole day from the beginning? Nice and slow. After that, we'll call it good for now."

Killua swallowed. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed(?) this rather dark introduction._

_Stay tuned for the next update to find out what happened the day before!_

_-R.R._


	2. Chapter 2: The Day Before

**Disclaimer: **I do notown Hunter x Hunter, or any related characters or concepts. Hunter x Hunter is owned by author Yoshihiro Togashi, along with Shonen Jump, Madhouse Studios, and various other persons and companies involved with the creation and/or publishing of the series. This is simply a fan-work written for entertainment purposes only.

_Welcome back to the fic! Now let's rewind a bit..._

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO  
-the day before-**

* * *

Alluka emerged from the changing room in a blue dress, shimmering with sequined trims. "Brother, what do you think?"

Killua put on the biggest smile he could manage. "It looks great!"

His sister pouted. "Brother, that's what you always say!"

Killua sighed. He'd waited outside the dressing room for almost an hour. Every few minutes, Alluka would reappear in a new dress and ask for his opinion, and each time, she'd decide that it wasn't quite the one, after all. He wasn't sure what she expected him to know about feminine fashion, or what he was supposed to say. He simply repeated the same mantra, hoping that if he said it with enough conviction or with the right smile, she'd finally be satisfied. Apparently not.

"Wait here." She ordered again, scurrying back into the stall.

Killua sunk deeper into the bench and pulled an unfamiliar phone from his shopping bag. He'd already picked out his suit and didn't have anything else left to do, so why not set up his new cell? He frowned at the polished slab of silver and glass in his hands. A part of him regretted buying it. Maybe it was just the money. When they barely had enough to pay for Alluka's treatments as it was, it seemed stupid to waste it on electronics. Or maybe, he missed the familiar curve of the beetle phone in his palm. He couldn't go around looking like a kid anymore, though. Especially not at the Association's party. If he wanted to be treated like an adult, he needed to look like one.

He took his old phone from his pocket one last time, and opened up its address book. He'd opted to get a new number, so he'd need to notify his contacts. The ones he wanted to keep, anyway. Many of his former business contacts needed to go, as did certain members of his family. He'd call them, if he needed to – they didn't need to have his number. He smiled slightly at Leorio's and Kurapika's names, and quickly sent them texts.

Leorio responded almost immediately:

What? My beetle phone not good enough for you anymore? I spent a lot of money on that, you know.

Oh well, figures. Have fun at the party tonight, kid!

Wish I was gonna be there.

Leorio was busy with med school, and Kurapika was wrapped up in his own business, as always, but at least they still checked in. Gon, on the other hand...

The smile disappeared when he reached the name of his former best friend. Gon hadn't spoken to him in over two years. Killua had tried a few months ago, leaving Gon a message on his birthday, but as usual, he'd never received anything back. Why even bother sending him his new number?

Nonetheless, he added Gon's information to his new phone, and wrote out the text. His fingers hovered over the keys. By the way, he considered adding, I'm in Everstine for the party. Are you gonna be there? We could meet up. In the end, the invitation never left his head, and he sent a simple message with only his current number. Nothing more.

He shut off the phone with a long breath.

"Brother, what about this one?"

Killua looked up to find Alluka standing in the doorway, adorning a lilac dress drowning in white bows. He smiled more genuinely. Something about its childish whimsy reminded him of the unusual, folksy clothes she used to wear, before she got out into the world and started to worry about what other people thought. She seemed to like it, too, grinning at him hopefully.

It was good to see her smile again. Really, she wasn't a Hunter, so she shouldn't come to the party at all, and really, they didn't have the money to spend on a dress. But, if it made her that happy, he supposed it was worth it.

All Alluka really wanted was acceptance. At first, she hadn't cared about how others saw her, but as time had gone by, and she'd started to grow up, she'd also started to worry. Seeing the world had changed her. It had made her want to be a part of it. But for a sheltered little girl who'd spent her childhood locked away by murderous parents, who'd carried a second personality and an impossibly dangerous power, who had a male body... The world hadn't been nearly so welcoming in return.

At least she didn't compulsively ask for hugs and kisses anymore. He sighed. He'd managed Nanika's presence by keeping both the requests and wishes simple, but now that Nanika was gone, he'd have thought everything would be simpler for her. Instead, though, Nanika's sudden disappearance had only made her sadder. He could still hear the way she'd sobbed that night, two years ago, when she'd woken him up in tears and told him that Nanika was never going to come back. He'd never seen her scream like that. And she'd never quite been the same, since.

It was shortly after that when she'd fallen ill. The cause and diagnosis remained unknown – just as mysterious as Nanika's disappearance – but her body weakened by the month. Her teenage form kept changing in other ways, too...ways she didn't like. Sometimes, it seemed life in the outside world was getting harder for her as time went on, not easier.

"Brother...?" She frowned, worriedly watching the melancholy on his face. "What's wrong? Does it look bad?"

"It's perfect!" He grinned for her. "But it doesn't matter. No matter what you wore, you'd still be the prettiest girl at the party!"

She giggled, beaming up at him with a blush. Her eyes sparkled with blue delight.

He shared her smile. This time, he'd apparently said the right thing. "How much is it?"

Her grin wavered slightly, and she shuffled her feet. Uh oh. "1200 Jenny."

"Seriously?" He gaped. He hadn't wanted to spend more than 1000, tops.

"Brother, please...?" She looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes.

He surrendered with a sigh and pulled out his wallet.

Her face lit up with excitement. "Yay!"

Yeah, he reminded himself. If a few strips of material made her so happy, it was worth it.

* * *

The elevator ascended the clock tower with a mechanical breath. Clear walls revealed the city below as it climbed, sprawled out in lights and shadows. Alluka leaned against the window and left handprints on the glass. "Wow, it's so pretty!"

Killua stepped closer for a better look, himself. "Yeah."

Everstine wasn't quite like any city he'd visited before. The future and the past shook hands here – ornate, ancient buildings beside steel factories, shrouded in industrial smog. The contradiction was in the culture, too. The country for which the city was named was one of the oldest still in existence, and its people largely still feared the outside world, as if it had passed the years in its own bubble of time and space. It was also, however, one of the biggest exporters of metals, fuels, and electronics on the continent, rising to wealth on the back of technology and industry. The oily fumes and flickering lights of its highways contrasted its skyline of towers and statues as the elegant city carved its own path towards the future, alone.

The bustling crowds reminded him of York New, but the whole place felt more isolated. There were no tourist attractions or grand, underground auctions. The smog obscured even the sky, trapping Everstine in its own, perpetual blanket of gray. Looking down at it from the rising glass box, the streets were nothing more than a foggy smear of lights, pierced by the silhouettes of spires and metal smokestacks.

Killua caught a glimpse of the castle's towers in the distance. Everstine was still ruled by the same royal family that had founded it, centuries ago. Traditional kings and queens lorded over the aggressive modernization of their country.

It was precisely because of these contradictions that the Hunter's Association had picked Everstine for the event. The country – and its conservative royal family – wielded considerable influence over the rest of the world, through its money, technology, and resources. Its xenophobic attitude had never been particularly welcoming of the Association or its Hunters, however, and while they could come and go at will, they had yet to establish any of their own inroads. The Association wanted to change that. It wanted to be the one the unsung powerhouse called for help as its industries increasingly exposed it to the outside world. It wanted a slice of Everstine's success.

Tonight, while the Hunters themselves partied and networked atop the city's tallest clock tower, the Association would hold a public press conference in the square below, addressing the country's people and showing off for them. It wasn't anything Killua was particularly interested in.

This might have been the first time he'd come to Everstine, but for him, the country was already stained with bad memories. All he wanted was to ensure that his name hadn't been forgotten. His reputation hadn't recovered after the incident, and as he passed the months with menial jobs, he slowly faded out of infamy and into simple obscurity. He wasn't willing to let that happen. He needed the big jobs, and the big money. Now, more than ever.

"You've got some guts, don't you?" Piqued the bouncer hosting the elevator, as if he'd read the boy's mind. "Showing up here, of all places?"

Killua shot the man a glare, warning him not to say anything else. The bouncer got the message, shuffling his feet and staring down at his guest list.

Two years ago, in an unprecedented event, Everstine's queen had visited York New and other cities around the continent as an ambassador for the country. Everstine, however, was hardly the most popular place in the world. Death threats had come in for her almost immediately, and feeling inadequately protected by her own entourage, the Association had convinced the queen to hire them on for additional protection. Killua, only fifteen at the time, had seen the opportunity for a small fortune, and had talked the Association into hiring him as the head of the bodyguard group. He was an expert when it came to assassinations, after all, and his reputation had been entirely different back then.

Worst mistake of his life.

The whole thing had been a disaster. A bloody, freaking disaster. Needless to say, the king was now married to a different queen. Someone considerably more alive.

Killua looked away from the bouncer, and back out at the silent spires of the castle.

Perhaps the Association's poor relationship with the country wasn't entirely due to xenophobia. After all, it had failed them when they'd trusted it most. He swallowed.

* * *

People. Color. Noise. The room atop the tower shook with shouts and laughter, alive with the warmth of joy. At first, Killua wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

The room itself was a metal box surrounded by glass walls, overlooking the city as the elevator had. An outdoor balcony bordered it and hung over a one-thousand foot drop. While it was one of the most popular gathering spots among Everstine's wealthy, he wondered if it had ever been so packed before. Hunters were a raucous crowd, unlike the solemn industrial meetings and refined social clubs he pictured taking place there. The clock tower could barely contain it all.

People packed booths and couches by the windows. One group leaned over a glass of water, a leaf floating on top. A woman placed her hands around it, and the water shot towards the sky like a geyser, spraying the crowd around her. Her companions clapped and laughed, but a man from the next table shouted obscenities in a drenched suit. Another party gathered around a pool table. The white ball took on an aura as a man hit it, and sent out a shockwave that pushed three other balls down holes, much to the chagrin of his competitors. Others leaned over the balcony outside, gawking at the city and the impossible fall below while they balanced bottles of booze on the railing.

Killua stopped when he finally saw someone he recognized. Bisky, one of his old mentors. Still looking as young as ever, she chatted with a bunch of big men and beautiful women over fine wine and sweets.

Should he talk to her? He hesitated. What would she say to him, now? He'd always kind of had the impression that Gon had been her favorite, and he hadn't spoken with her since the incident. What if she'd be embarrassed of him? What if –

Damn it. Killua gritted his teeth in frustration. He'd once had more than enough confidence to carry him through any crowd, but it wasn't quite that way, anymore. He cared now. Back when he hadn't – back when everything had simply been a game, a challenge, an experience – everything had been so much easier. Now, he needed to succeed. He needed the money to take care of Alluka. He needed to salvage his reputation while he still could. He was an adult. He had responsibilities. He couldn't screw this up.

That thought fastened his feet to the floor.

Gon reached out a hand, "Come on, Killua! Let's go get something to eat and find something to play. It looks like there's all kinds of games. I bet we can win them all!"

Killua blinked the imaginary image away. Gon had always shown brighter than anyone else in the room without even trying. Sometimes, he missed simply chasing the light.

"Brother, can I go get some sweets?"

Alluka's voice broke his reverie. She tugged at his suit, pointing at a group of young girls gossiping over a table of candy and pastries.

"Sure," he nodded, "just don't wander off."

"Yay!" She hurried away with a grin.

He watched for a few minutes. Alluka wanted nothing more than to make her own friends, but it didn't always go exceptionally well when she introduced herself to strangers...not if they realized she was different. She broke into the other girls' conversation and snatched up a piece of cake, all without much tact. The strangers said something he couldn't hear, before breaking into laughter. Alluka laughed with them, still beaming.

Killua turned away with a slight smile. All right. If his sister could do it, then so could he. He scanned the room, intense gaze more like a predator's searching for prey than a partier's looking for company.

Near the bar, a group of strangers were readying themselves for a round of darts. Perfect. That was one game he could win.

He strode over and snatched a set of three. "I'm joining."

The other competitors looked at him.

"Sure thing!" A bright-eyed boy agreed. "We could use one more person, anyway."

The others didn't seem quite so eager. A woman in a low-cut top and a man with a beer can in his hand, whispered something to each other. A well-dressed girl frowned slightly. A second man, red hair slicked back over a teal suit, shot him a smirk. "If you think you can handle losing, kid."

Killua grimaced, but didn't say anything. The man couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than him, but he'd show them on the board.

The game began in silence. The skeevy couple threw first, scoring totals of 91 and 96. The girl nabbed a 146. The boy claimed a 40 and cringed. He gave Killua a sheepish smile. "Why don't you give it a go?"

He stepped up, and after steadying his aim, threw a sure bull's-eye.

Something, however, wasn't right. The dart's feathers smoldered slightly as it pierced the air, flickering with embers and remnants of aura. It skidded off course, and barely bit into a 20 with a clumsy thud.

"Hey!" Killua whirled on the other players, but he didn't have to search for the offender – the satisfaction on the redhead's face gave it away. Somehow, this guy had interfered with Nen. "Scared, huh?" His narrowed eyes met the stranger's amber stare.

The man just shrugged. "From here, it sounds like you're the scared one."

"Come on, Rozen, play fair." The boy facilitating the game complained with a tired smile, scratching the back of his neck.

The redhead, Rozen, fiddled with the darts in his hand. "Fine, fine, we can play fair, if that's how you want it. It'll make it worse when you lose."

Killua glowered daggers into the stranger's confident sneer. What the hell was this guy's problem?

Precisely preparing his last two darts, his shots hit smack in the center of the board, adding a 100 to his 20. Two perfect bull's-eyes. A few impressed breaths came from behind him, and he couldn't help a smirk of his own. Even with the wasted first throw, he could catch up easily by the next round.

Rozen was next. All three of his darts hit not bull's-eyes, but triple twenties. 180 points – the highest possible on the board. The man beamed with self-satisfaction. "Guess you're right. If this is my competition, I don't need Nen to win."

Killua gritted his teeth, but didn't feed the man's pride with a retort. The guy wasn't the only one who could hit a perfect score. Next round, he'd –

The rear of the room erupted with noise. The players stopped, eyes swinging over towards the employee entrance. Another group of Hunters had just stepped inside. Two of them were Association drones in black uniforms, but the third...

A strange shiver shot up Killua's spine when he saw who it was.

Gon stood in the doorway, already swarmed by the crowd. Partygoers buzzed around him, asking questions and snapping photos. The woman broke off from her drunken boyfriend and joined the chaos with a squeal. Several other players followed excitedly, abandoning the game for this new entertainment.

"Hey, Gon, how did the eastern marshlands mission go? Were there all kinds of traps and big monsters, like they say?"

"What do you think about the Association's plans to expand its presence in Everstine and other isolated nations?"

"Do you have any cool new powers to show us?"

"Have you heard from Ging lately?"

"Is it true that there were amazing treasures buried in the swamp?"

Gon laughed, trying to answer a few questions, but one of the managers stepped forward and shoed back the crowd. "Save the questions for the press conference, please. Mr. Freecss will be speaking there and will answer a round of public inquiries."

The horde still clamored, trailing him like hungry coyotes as the managers struggled to clear a path towards the elevator.

Killua found himself scowling. Shameless, the lot of them. All pleading for attention, as if some of his fame and fortune might rub off on them, if only he looked their way.

Still...

His senses went numb as he watched his old friend. Gon shone brighter than ever. So bright, it nearly burned his eyes to look at him. He swallowed.

Seventeen-year-old Gon, he realized, had been carved into the perfect picture of positive masculinity. It was no wonder the Association had chosen him as the icon of the organization. Him, with his polished muscle, solid and friendly face, and natural confidence. Every insecure schoolgirl loved him, and every insecure schoolboy wanted to be him. Just another manufactured media face.

Killua frowned at his own bitterness, surprised.

Perhaps, it was that a part of him wondered whether he could've been up there, too. Despite the things Gon had said to him during the Chimera Ant incident, despite always standing in Gon's shadow...if he'd just sucked it up and kept following along, would things have been different? Would things have gotten better, again? Would he have been good enough to stand beside him, now?

Despite the apologies and their fun, last few days together, he hadn't been able to think of Gon in quite the same way after they'd returned from the castle, and after everything he'd gone through just to save Gon from his own mistakes. Damage had been done. He'd wanted some time alone, to be able to carve his own route through the world with Alluka. He'd wanted to be a leader, not a follower.

He hadn't wanted to lose their friendship, though...

He still didn't quite understand how everything had happened. For the first year, the two of them had texted and talked back and forth through the airwaves. The last he'd heard, Gon still hadn't found a way to regain his abilities after losing them in that stupid sacrifice against the Ants. Then, suddenly, and for seemingly no reason at all, the messages had stopped all together. The next time he'd seen Gon had been on the local news a few months later, discussing his success on missions inside a warring nation.

How he could suddenly go from such struggles to such renown had left Killua baffled. Somehow, against all logic, he'd managed to skate through his troubles and come out on top, just like always. It was almost maddening. Even without him there to pick up the pieces, there were apparently plenty of other people willing to do it for him. It didn't seem their separation had affected him, at all. Maybe that was why Gon didn't bother talking to him anymore. He wasn't needed.

Killua ground his teeth to push away the unexpected lump in his throat.

Gon made his way passed the bar, bringing the crowd with him. Killua just watched as he neared, unable to move, but somehow, unable to look away.

Then suddenly, Gon stopped. He blinked, and turned back, recognition flashing across his face. He looked right at Killua.

Their eyes met, and for a few quiet beats, the tension seemed to slow time to a stop.

Killua shuffled, feeling the cold wave that had washed through him slowly warm. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find any words.

In the end, Gon's own gaze lightened. He smiled, just slightly.

Then he turned away, and the crowd greedily swallowed him back up. Time swept by, and he made it to the elevator, leaving the party behind.

Killua just stood there, for a while, swallowing the tangled, unspoken words he hadn't managed to say. Hell, a simple 'hey', would've sufficed. He grumbled to himself and shook it off. It seemed most of the partygoers had followed the celebrity down for the presentation. The darts game was apparently over.

He hesitated, debating whether or not to join everyone else. But somehow, he didn't want to. He didn't want to watch his old friend get up on that stage and speak, listening from the floor like any other stranger. He didn't want to see the difference between them – between their lives – displayed for him, beneath cameras and lights.

Tch. He'd wanted to be a leader. A fine job of that, he'd done.

Instead, he ambled out onto the balcony and sucked in a much needed breath of fresh air. He leaned against the railing, looking down. The fog parted just enough to reveal the stage below. Distant silhouettes of Gon and the Zodiacs stood atop it, over a sea of excited Hunters and curious residents. Cameras flashed, flickering like stars in a smoggy sky.

* * *

Killua leaned on his elbows and sipped disinterestedly at a glass of cherry cola. It was almost eleven already, and the party was winding down. All that remained were pockets of activity – the pool game that had gone on forever, the gathering of smokers outside discussing the conference, and the occasional drunk still downing bottles and laughing at nothing.

His eyes wandered towards the dessert table. Alluka and her newfound friends were still there, too. They'd made their way around the party, picking at games and discussions, before always returning for another piece of pie or bite of chocolate. His sister was now on her fourth slice of cake. She probably wasn't going to be sleeping much, that night. Ah well, it was free, so why not take advantage of it?

It seemed most of the crowd, though, had abandoned the remaining food and drink after the conference. He would've left already, himself, if Alluka hadn't still seemed to be enjoying herself. After the failed darts game, he'd managed to inject himself into a few more conversations and competitions. A little smooth-talking and a couple impressive wins later, he'd scored a handful of new numbers and contacts, albeit from no one especially interesting. He leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. Hopefully the party had been worth it.

The memory of Gon's eyes drifted through his head.

Why hadn't his old friend at least acknowledged him? True, surprise may have stolen his own tongue, but Gon had never been one to hold back words. Was it because of the crowd? Did the famous Hunter not want to associate with a screw-up? Or was that really how little he cared? Heh. Maybe he was lucky to have even gotten that smile.

Killua shook the angst away with a grimace. What was wrong with him? Why was his stomach tied in so many knots? It wasn't like him, and he didn't like it.

He straightened, trying to regain control of his body and mind. Why did he even care, anyway? Sure, Gon had been his first friend. But if he didn't want to be friends anymore, then whatever. So what? Why would he want to be friends with someone so high and mighty, anyway? He didn't want anything to do with the Association's propaganda. The whole thing was stupid. If Gon didn't care anymore, then neither did –

His pocket buzzed. He startled at first, not used to the unfamiliar ringtone after so many years of the beetle's chime. What really startled him, however, was when he pulled out the cell and saw the number displayed on the screen. He opened the text with wide eyes.

Killua!

I saw you at the party, but I couldn't really talk with so many people around. It's crazy!

Come hang out at my hotel! It's the Equinox Inn, room 116. See you there!

-Gon

The bitterness dissolved as if it had never been there, and Killua got to his feet with a rush of excitement.

Gon still wanted to see him. He was just busy. He was probably busy a lot, nowadays. It wasn't that surprising that he wouldn't have much time left for friends.

A grin swept Killua's face. He'd just overanalyzed, like always. He really was an idiot.

* * *

The Equinox Inn was the finest hotel in Everstine. Not that there were many, but hey, at least they didn't skimp on the few tourists who actually visited. The whole place was alive with lights, ten-stories of windows glowing golden. Decorative ivy wound up the walls, while silhouettes stood inside the bright glass entrance and cast shadow plays on the concrete garden.

Killua avoided the crowded lobby, no doubt still buzzing with gossip from the conference, and took the rear stairwell. It was locked by a keypad, of course, but that was no problem when he could temporarily disable it with a single, electric touch. Gon's room was apparently on the first floor, so there was no reason to fight his way to the elevator.

There was a bounce in his step that hadn't been there in weeks, as he made his way up the stairs. A part of him hated himself for it. Why had a stupid text made him so happy? Why did Gon's words still make such a difference to him? He pushed down the doubts, refusing to admit his relief to himself.

After all, it was normal to want to catch up with an old friend, right?

Unlike the lobby, the hallway was quiet as he made his way to room 116. He smiled when he saw it.

When he approached, however, something inside him changed. He stopped, knuckles freezing inches from the door. Wait. He didn't need to knock, he realized. It hung open just a crack...a crack just wide enough to render the lock useless.

For a while, he simply stood there, staring down the door to room 116. Why would it already be open like that? The dark, silent slit offered no answer. He sucked in the air to call out, but it died in his throat.

Something was wrong.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Hope to see you next time, when we'll return to the present. _

_-R.R._


	3. Chapter 3: The Escape

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hunter x Hunter, or any related characters or concepts. Hunter x Hunter is owned by author Yoshihiro Togashi, along with Shonen Jump, Madhouse Studios, and various other persons and companies involved with the creation and/or publishing of the series. This is simply a fan-work written for entertainment purposes only.

_Hey all, sorry for the long break between chapters. I've been distracted by Camp NaNoWriMo last month and a couple of different writing contests, but I'll try to get the next one up quicker. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed in the meantime!_

_For now, it's finally time we returned to the present._

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**  
**-the escape-**

* * *

Killua looked at the officer's eyes. They hadn't changed during the testimony, not once. Nothing on the man's face suggested that he believed a word of it. Why was he even bothering to tell this stranger anything? Why was he letting this man see so much of him?

Maybe it was because the memories didn't want to stay inside. He hadn't managed to file them away, with all of his other unpleasant remembrances. These were different. They didn't fit anywhere. He didn't know what to do with them. They wanted to escape, into the outside world, as if he could lighten their weight by sharing them with others.

Unfortunately, it didn't work that way. When they left his mouth, they became more real, and so much heavier.

Killua held the stare a moment longer – as if the present was an anchor to keep him from drifting back into those new, red memories, back into that room – but there was no safety in the officer's cold eyes. All he saw was suspicion.

His body sunk defeatedly into his chair, and his mind sunk into that moment. "It was dark when I opened the door," he whispered, voice all dried up in his throat, "but I knew, right away. I knew the smell of blood. When I turned the light on..." He swallowed.

Fluorescent buzzing filled the silence.

"When you turned the light on..." The cop prodded, eager impatience written all over his face.

"I saw him." Killua finished. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the images, but they were drawn on the back of his lids. Etched on the inside of his skull. Still, he kept his eyes shut tight. They burned, and he wasn't sure he could stop the tears, not if he gave them the chance to escape. "He was dead. Stabbed sixteen times."

"You knew he was dead when you saw him?" The officer pressed. "You knew exactly how many times he'd been stabbed, just by looking?"

"It's from my old line of work!" Killua barked, the hidden accusation stirring up his rage. "I realized it without needing to think. It was just a fact."

The cop raised a skeptical brow. "What did you do, then? What did you do when you realized your friend was dead?"

The heat drained away, once more leaving him with that empty pit in his stomach. Hot and cold fought inside him, always shifting and changing. It wasn't quite like anything he'd felt before. A part of him slipped away to several years ago. Gon's own deep, irrational grief after Kite's death, and his mad, black wrath against the Ants. Perhaps he finally understood it better.

"I just...stared." He managed a shrug. All that remained of that instant was an icy, panicked surge in his memories. The details were indistinct, blurred with blood and shock. It wasn't something that he could, or wanted to, put into words. "The next thing I knew, I was tackled from behind, and ended up here."

A tense hush stretched on between them.

Finally, the officer tapped his knuckles on the table. "Fine. It's a start." He snorted dismissively. "We'll begin by going through your phone, and collaborating testimonies. We're going to hold you, for now, and I'll be back to talk to you tomorrow." He rose from his seat. "We'll see if you have a different version of the story to tell, after a night behind bars."

All right. It was time to leave.

Killua glowered up at the cop. "I suggest you're the one who comes up with a different story."

The man stopped. "Huh –"

Killua blinked, and the room plunged into darkness. The lights went out. The buzzing hushed. The security locks died. The cameras closed their eyes.

The cop staggered back with a confused, startled curse.

Killua stood, and the chains binding him to the chair shattered with an electric snap. "This is a warning." He hissed, the venom escaping, one last time. "Leave me alone. I would never hurt my friends, but the same can't be said for my enemies."

The man gaped at him. Now his expression had changed, all of his smugness gone, eyes wild with fear. Less than five seconds, indeed. The boy almost laughed.

The door slammed open behind him, and more officers rushed in with weapons drawn – no doubt they'd been watching the whole time. Now, though, they were too late.

Angry aura crackled around him. Every muscle stiffened. Every thought focused. Every hair rose – on the nape of his neck, on the top of his skull – bristling with blue electricity. Godspeed. These guys weren't going to know what hit them.

He blazed through the door before the first gun fired, sending the cops stumbling away with electrical burns. Incoherent curses shouted in his wake, but he barely heard them. All he wanted was out.

Killua carried the darkness with him, shutting off lights, cameras, and locks as he ran. A new trick he'd learned. By transmuting his aura into various electrical signals – sometimes even data – he could jam, activate, and communicate with all kinds of devices. The digital world was his plaything.

"Demon!"

"Monster!"

"Stop!"

The resistance was weak. Shouts, and the occasional gunshot, echoed behind him, but in the dim chaos, he had a straight shot towards the exit. He bolted through the halls, sliding around each bullet with almost humorous ease. Pathetic, for guys who talked so tough. They had no idea what the world was really like.

"What's going on? Why's it so dark? Where's my brother?"

One scared, familiar voice cut through the others.

Killua stopped, nearly skidding on the tile. Alluka. He'd asked the cop to tell her to go back to the hotel, but either no one actually had, or she'd been too stubborn to listen. She was still in the lobby.

He swooped around, and one bullet grazed the side of his cheek as he spun into the left hallway. Sparks flew, red drops splattering the wall, but he didn't have time to hesitate. He burst into the lobby and snatched up his sister without stopping.

"Brother!" Alluka beamed, her small fingers clinging to him excitedly, even as the receptionist she'd been arguing with screamed. "You're all right!"

"Hold on." He told her, gripping her tightly. "We're getting out of here."

A last bullet broke through glass behind him, ripping through doors and walls, but the shot echoed hollowly. Killua was already through the main exit, and out into the smoggy night. His blue rage illuminated fog and asphalt. They'd never catch him.

* * *

The door was locked.

Killua sighed. There was no easy way around this one. Not wanting to kick down the entrance to the old house unless he had to, he meandered around for the window. It slid open easily.

"Be careful climbing in." He told Alluka, still in his arms. After a swift glance to make sure no one was watching, he hoisted her up.

She clambered onto the sill and looked around. "It has a couch and everything!" She announced happily, and jumped down with a clumsy plop.

He followed suit, hauling himself through the unlocked window and into the strange house.

Godspeed had gotten him away from the heart of the city – away from the guns and sirens – but even when the streets had fallen silent and his energy had waned, he'd kept running, until he'd reached the place where the outskirts of the city kissed the forests beyond. Low-class residential neighborhoods clustered here, where residents who couldn't afford metropolitan luxury still clung to Everstine. There were plenty of abandoned houses to choose from, but this one was in better shape than many of the others. It would be the perfect place to hide out for a few nights.

Killua scanned the bleak building. There were indeed furnishings left behind – couches, tables, shelves – but that was probably because none of it was worth keeping. The whole place smelled of mold and dust. How many years had it been since someone had last stepped inside?

He left the window open for air, just a crack, but quickly closed the mildewed curtains. He meandered about the rest of the living room and did the same at every window. They couldn't risk anyone catching a glimpse of them through the glass.

"Brother, it's getting dark again!" Alluka complained, clutching her dress nervously.

"Sorry, Alluka." He exhaled a weary breath. "It looks like we need to hide out here for a while." The hotel they'd been staying at was hardly the Equinox Inn, but this dump still managed to be a come down. "I can turn on anything electric if we need it, but we should be careful about lights." He shifted over to the kitchen, and searched the cupboards. If only there were –

Ah ha! He smiled slightly, in spite of himself. Candles and matches lingered unused in one of the drawers. The first, tiny bit of luck he'd had the whole miserable day.

"We can use these." He set down a candle on a low coffee table and lit it. "They're dim enough to go unnoticed, but we should keep them away from the windows."

Alluka collapsed onto the edge of the couch, sitting close to the meek, flickering candle with a relieved smile.

"I'll search around for blankets and other supplies, but we're probably going to have to go without food for the night." All of his energy gone, Killua joined his sister on the filthy couch with a tired groan. "There might still be some water in the tank, but don't use it unless you have to. I don't know how long we're going to have to stay here."

At this point, they essentially had two options.

They could flee. He'd remain the prime suspect for who knew how long. He wouldn't be able to work, and they'd have to live carefully, in hiding. The Association's tendrils reached everywhere. The only way he'd ever be free, was if the police managed to find the real culprit behind the murder. Perhaps they would, one day, but then again, perhaps they wouldn't.

Or, he could try to find out who did this, himself. He could clear his own name. They would need to stay in the city, then, however long it took.

He narrowed his gaze at invisible enemies. It was hardly a decision, at all.

"Brother, it's okay." Alluka tried, putting on a smile. Perhaps she'd seen the melancholy on his face. "I don't mind if we stay here. I'm just glad you're okay." Her eyes shimmered in the candlelight. "I was really scared. Everyone at the party suddenly got really upset and angry. They said you did something bad and were taken away!" A tear broke lose and made its way down to her chin. "I went and tried to tell them to let you go, but they wouldn't listen! I was scared you were gone forever!"

Killua forced a weak smile of his own, and ruffled her hair. "Don't worry. No matter what, I'm not going to leave you alone again."

She sniffed, cuddling up closer to him. Her tired body shook against his.

For a while, they simply sat, slumped wearily on the couch. It was remarkably quiet, for a city like Everstine. The neighborhood was still too urban for the sounds of wildlife, but it was far enough away from the metropolis to evade the noise of traffic and crowds. The roar of an engine occasionally passed by, but then it would fade back into blankness, and leave them once more in silence.

"I had fun at the party..." Alluka eventually piped up, cheek still leaning on his shoulder.

"Me too." Killua lied.

"It's too bad my dress got dirty, though..." She tried not to sound sad.

He looked over at her, and saw the red stains on her skirt. Blood. Gon's blood. That must've happened when he'd carried her away from the police station. He remembered the blood tainting his own suit and shoes, and shivered. Crimson footprints trailed around the house's carpet. With their bags still at the hotel, they didn't even have anything else to change into. He'd have to do something about that, tomorrow.

"I'll buy you a new one, soon." He promised. He vaguely wondered whether it might be possible to get the stains out, but he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look at those particular outfits the same way, again.

"It's okay..." Alluka insisted. "But Brother...are _you_ really okay?" She tilted her head to find his eyes.

"Of course." He insisted, painting his face with false confidence. "We'll get this all straightened out."

Her stare - her innocent, worried eyes - never faltered. "But didn't your friend just die?"

The smile fell off his face.

"I didn't quite understand what was going on, but..." Her lips scrunched into a frown - the kind that suppressed a lump in her throat. "They said something happened to your friend."

Killua didn't answer right away. His eyes drooped, suddenly unable to hold her gaze.

"It's okay to be sad, you know." She reminded. "That's what you always tell me, when I need to cry."

He swallowed, then looked at her, forcing the smile back to his lips. "I'm fine." He promised. "You don't need to worry about it."

Tears glistened at the edges of her eyes. "I wish Nanika was still here." Drops escaped, carving trails on her flushed cheeks. "If Nanika was here, then maybe I could help you. But I can't do anything by myself!" She broke down into sobs, burying her face in her hands. "I'm not good for anything!"

"That's not true." He pulled her closer again, wrapping strong arms around his sister. "You help just by being here. You're why I'm okay."

He had no choice but to be, with his little sister relying on him.

"Really?" She whimpered.

He nodded. "As long as we still have each other, then we'll both be okay."

Time passed in a sad, suspended hush. She wept into his suit, until finally, exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep.

* * *

Killua pulled a musty blanket off the top shelf. Dust flew every which way in the dimly lit basement, its slumber finally disturbed after years of stillness. There was only one quilt left, and it was thin with moth-holes and mildew, but it would suffice for the night. Another trace of luck.

Gathering the blanket into his arms, he took one last look around the basement. There was little else of interest – empty boxes, abandoned tools, a basket of cooking utensils and a box of old silverware. None of it would help them. He hadn't searched every nook-and-cranny yet, but it almost certainly wouldn't be worth the effort. Abandoning the darkest corners of the basement in exchange for more time to sleep was a worthy trade. After all, it was already -

He reached into his pocket for his phone, to check the time, but it wasn't there. Right. The cops had taken it, and his old beetle phone, too. What a waste of money that thing had been.

Well, it had to be at least 3AM, by now. He needed to snatch up every minute of rest he could get. Who knew how often he was really going to have the chance from now on? Tomorrow was a blank, black space in his mind.

Killua dragged himself towards the stairs, taking the candles with him, but something stopped him. Dread.

How was he going to sleep?

_Gon's eyes were closed. He slumped against the kitchen cabinets of his fancy hotel suite, head resting against the wood. His arms lay limp beside him, one leg propped up against the other, as if stirred by restless dreams. His lips sat in a quiet line._

_The anguish, the pain, the fear, the regret. The footprints of death – of murder – that Killua had seen so many times, were absent from Gon's face. No shock. No horror. Had it not been for the carnage, he could've simply been asleep._

_How he could look so peaceful, with sixteen stab wounds and a suit painted red with his own blood, Killua didn't understand. He should've been relieved that the ghost of suffering had spared his old friend, but somehow, the contentment on his empty face chilled him to the bone._

How could he sleep, when he saw the images every time he closed his eyes?

So far, he'd been busy. He'd been planning. He'd been looking for supplies. He'd been talking with and watching over Alluka.

But now, Alluka was asleep. Now, he'd searched everything worth searching. Now, he'd made all the plans he could, and his mind and body were too tired to conjure anymore ideas worth having.

He was alone with his thoughts. With his new, bloodied memories. With the image of Gon's lifeless body.

More memories – shadow plays silhouetted against the sky – flooded through him, before he could tuck them away.

A starry night on Whale Island, when Gon had smiled at him, and told him that he was his first friend.

Hours and hours spent training – investing in the future – on Greed Island.

Watching as Gon left him behind – as he descended into danger, into rage – in the abyss of the Ants, the bite of his words still burning in Killua's chest and leaving a scar that would never quite heal.

Gon's impossibly thin hand in his – so thin, it was altogether unfamiliar, as if it might crumple if he held it too hard – while Nanika stood beside him, ready to grant his wish.

Gon's eventual, casual, bright-eyed apology. The same as he'd always been, as unaware of the trouble he'd caused as ever. The goodbyes they'd said then, with friendly 'see you later's that had never come to be.

Had it all been for nothing? What had all of it meant, if...?

If it had all ended in a pool of blood, inside a fancy hotel suite.

Now, he'd never see Gon again. He'd never know why the texts had stopped coming, why he'd never returned his calls, why he'd received nothing but a smile the last time their paths had crossed.

It was over.

His first friend was dead.

Killua's arms tightened around the blanket, crinkling the old fabric with tight, sweaty fingers.

"Gon..."

Why? How could Gon have let this happen? How could he have left like this? After everything they'd done. After all their training. After they'd defeated human and animal monsters. After they'd survived horrors and feats they never should've survived at all. After they'd overcome the impossible, alone and together, time and again. After everything...he'd been done in by a knife in a luxury hotel room.

It didn't make any goddamn sense! It shouldn't have happened! How could it have happened?

And yet, it had.

It wasn't fair.

Killua threw the quilt to the ground. Candles crashed on the floor.

It wasn't fair!

He struck the shelves, ripping off boxes and tools. They echoed with clangs, but somehow, it wasn't enough. He screamed. He screamed, tossing nails, wood, buckets, jars, all to the floor, until the basement was filled with noise.

It wasn't fair!

His fingernails elongated into razors, striking at the wall with the screech of knives on metal.

It wasn't fair!

Once more, Gon would never realize the trouble – the hurt – that he'd put him through. Once more, Gon had gotten himself into danger too great for him to handle on his own. This time, no one had been there to save him. This time, he'd never apologize with simple, bright-eyes and a smile.

It wasn't fair!

The lifeless light bulbs above the basement shattered, raining the room with shimmering specks of glass. Dead machines buzzed and sparked in the angry stillness.

Killua had always tried to protect him, even when Gon had seemed determined to put himself in danger. He _had_ saved him – he'd risked everything to save his life, when Gon himself had thrown it away in a selfish fit of rage, without any thought to his feelings at all.

And yet...

And yet, Gon had still left him. Gon had finally left him behind, for good. He'd left, without so much as a goodbye.

Killua crumbled against the brick wall. He buried his head in his knees, screams dissolving into sobs. In the isolation of the basement – with no one and nothing to shield him from his memories – resolution finally melted into defeat beneath the black, bitter touch of grief.

His best friend was dead.

* * *

_Killua may have reached the 'anger' stage of grief, but now there are some decisions to be made...  
_

_See you next time!_

_-R.R._


	4. Chapter 4: Haunted

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hunter x Hunter, or any related characters or concepts. Hunter x Hunter is owned by author Yoshihiro Togashi, along with Shonen Jump, Madhouse Studios, and various other persons and companies involved with the creation and/or publishing of the series. This is simply a fan-work written for entertainment purposes only.

_Ugh. I don't even know how long it's been since the last update. So much for posting this chapter sooner. Sorry about the huge delay for anyone waiting._

_What happened was that I wrote up the whole thing, edited it twice through, and had it all ready to post. Then I lost the memory card that it was saved on. It sucked. I'm normally judicious about keeping backups, but since I mostly wrote this chapter on the go, on a device without internet, in coffee shops and buses, I hadn't bothered to save it to my main computer or the cloud, and just assumed it'd be fine. Big mistake, there, since it wasn't. So, I had to redo the whole thing._

_Then I got a new job. Then I moved to a new city. Then I started a new college. I really wanted to get it done again earlier, but I'd kind of lost the window of opportunity, before life went crazy._

_Anyway, sorry for the rant, and again for the wait. In any case, this is by far the longest chapter so far, almost twice the length of any others. So, enjoy~_

_(Also as an aside, today (September 24th) marks exactly one year since the last episode of HxH 2011 aired. Time goes fast, sometimes.)_

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**  
**-haunted-**

* * *

Killua awoke with an anonymous shiver. There was no moment of relief – sleep hadn't dulled the images of the day and night before. The air stank with dust and blood. He wasn't sure how much of the latter came from the stains on his suit, and how much of it was merely in his head.

He blinked, eyes scanning the still unfamiliar house. Usually, he could wake in an instant, and be ready and prepared, but this time, his senses were groggy, dragging behind his mind and his body. The room was muddy with the night, nothing but black beyond the curtained windows. He couldn't have slept for more than a couple of hours.

His heart thudded in his chest. Why? Something was wrong. What?

A shape came into focus as his vision sleepily adjusted. Alluka. She wasn't slumbering on the couch beside him, but standing in the center of the living room, back towards him. What did she think she was doing, staring at nothing in the middle of the night?

He pushed himself up straighter on his palms. "Alluka?"

She didn't move. "You are finally awake, Killua." There was no trace of slumber in her voice. "I did not understand how you could sleep on a night like this."

Huh...? Something was wrong, but...

A shudder jarred his senses awake. Realization widened his eyes and opened his mouth. "Nanika?!"

Alluka had never referred to him by name, not once.

"I've missed you." Nanika said, not turning around.

Words dried up in his throat. What...the hell? Nanika had disappeared, abruptly and completely, two years ago. And even before then, the second being in his sister's body had generally only shown itself under certain conditions. Why now? Why, in the middle of the night?

"What are you doing here?" He managed, stammering. "Where have you been for the last two years? Why did you come back?"

This time, the silent figure said nothing.

He waited, the minutes dragging on until the hush threatened to suffocate him.

"Nanika?" He pressed.

The silent figure said nothing.

This wasn't right either, was it? Was this really the same Nanika he'd known two years ago? Nanika had always acted and talked like a child, but this was different. Still, he definitely wasn't speaking to Alluka.

His fingers curled into fists. "Nanika..." No matter what was going on, there was one more question on the tip of his tongue. He had to ask. "Can you...bring him back? Gon?"

Another silence stretched on.

"I'm sorry," Nanika answered, "I can't. Not even for you." Their flat voice fell. "I am not a skilled healer," they reminded, "even if I were to try and restore life where there is none, it is unlikely that this body would withstand the effort."

Killua's eyes fell, as an unexpected pang hallowed him out. Right. What a stupid thing to ask.

"Still," Nanika hummed, "I want to help you."

He looked up.

"I may not be a skilled healer, but I am a master of death."

Nanika turned. Blood painted the lilac dress and their pale, blank face in scarlet. It was fresh, blending over yesterday's black stains. Carving lines on their cheeks. Dripping from their chin. Pooling on the floor. Their absent eyes met his.

Killua shivered, his insides twisting in knots.

This was wrong.

"I have a question for you, too." Nanika – was this really Nanika? – stepped forward. "Where has being a good person gotten you?"

Killua swallowed, his voice tied up, along with the rest of him.

"You changed for him." Nanika came closer, step by step. "You threw everything away. All that you'd worked for. All that you were."

"I changed for myself!" He shouted, voice breaking through barred teeth. "What my family wanted... That's not who I was!"

The figure tilted its head. "And this is? After how hard you've struggled, what do you have to show for it? Rejection. Persecution. Poverty. It is impossible to succeed at anything when you are fighting yourself every step of the way. It is not the natural order of things."

They stepped closer. The smell – the sickly, metal tang – smothered the air around him.

"You could have been a prodigy." Their vacant mouth formed a somber smile. "On top of the world."

His nails shed blood from his palms.

"You should embrace your inheritance. Become who you are. Become the way the world still sees you. The way it always will. You will always be branded a killer, so why not be one? Your identity was decided when you were born with the Zoldyck name."

"You're wrong!" He snarled. "There are others...! Gon...!"

"And look how that ended." Something shifted in Nanika's empty eyes. "In the end, even he rejected you, didn't he? He used you, didn't he? Now look where you are."

A lump crushed the words in his throat. That wasn't true! It wasn't... Something must've happened to Gon, those two years ago. There had to be a reason why...

"I want to help you," they insisted, "I want to help you claim the power you are capable of, with me at your side. Together, we can paint the world red. We can have revenge. We can be free. We can stand above others."

Killua straightened, pushing back. He had to get away from there. But somehow, his body wouldn't quite work.

Nanika was above him in an instant. Their hands – Alluka's hands – shoved into his chest and pinned him to the couch. How? When had they become so much stronger? They had him. He couldn't move.

His sister's shape leaned in closer. Blood spilled from its chin, hot on his cheek. His pounding pulse strangled his lungs. The world wavered.

"Tell me, then," the thing whispered in his ear, "after all, you tried so hard. Were all your efforts worth it?"

* * *

Killua awoke with a start, bolting up on his palms. The dark room spun. But then, as the seconds passed, everything slowly melted into focus. The stench of blood faded. The first traces of light peaked through the curtains. No one stood above him.

He inhaled as his racing heart slowly subsided.

A nightmare.

He was still in the abandoned house, Gon was still dead, and he was still the top suspect. But his nighttime encounter with what had passed for Nanika had never happened. Of course not, Nanika had disappeared two years ago, after all. And in Alluka's own words, was never coming back.

A pang of guilt drained the adrenaline out of him. What a horrible thing to dream. Nanika may have had monstrous abilities, and yet, Nanika hadn't been a monster. Nanika had been a child, only as dangerous as the wishes people made, and who'd only wanted to please others. Everything the false Nanika had said had come from inside his own mind. A wave of nausea bubbled up, but he brushed it away before it could catch him. Damn, yesterday had really messed with his head.

As his senses sluggishly caught up to reality, he felt the weight still holding him down. Alluka. She must have shuffled during the night. Her head leaned against his chest, the rest of her curled up on top of him. Her sleeping breaths wheezed with the shaky rise and fall of her ribs. Shades of white and red marbled her sweaty face. Alluka, not Nanika. He sighed and placed a hand to her forehead. She was burning up with fever, and all of her medicine was still at their old hotel.

He pushed himself up, and gently nudged her shoulder.

She stirred. A part of him was still relieved when her eyes opened to reveal sleepy blue irises. "Huh...?"

"Alluka, I'm going out for food and supplies." He hoped she wouldn't hear the unease in his voice, left behind by that stupid dream. There was no way he could go back to sleep after that. "Stay and rest. You should be safe here. I'll be back in a couple of hours, and I'll bring medicine."

"Hmm." She nodded groggily, her eyes heavy with sleep and fever.

He carefully got up from under her and set her down on the couch. His own legs dragged beneath him. What a grim reality to wake up to, but that was all the more reason he couldn't lay around, wasting time with nightmares and restless nights.

"But Brother," Alluka mumbled, readjusting herself beneath the blanket, "you will come back, won't you?"

He stopped, then put on the most confident smile he could manage. "Always."

* * *

Killua looked up at the Equinox Inn. The hotel, a symbol of wealth and opulence, seemed infinitely more ominous than it had the night before – a cold, black shape reaching up into the smoggy sky. It had to be about seven in the morning, and already, several rooms were alight, illuminating the tower with patches of glowing windows amidst the gloom. Brief motions flickered through the lobby, and passersby occasionally wandered across the parking lot. There was no sign of the police yet, though. He needed to hurry.

Creeping around the building, he counted the windows from outside, until he found the one that had to belong to room 116. After a last glance around to make sure that the courtyard was clear of curious eyes, he leapt, clambering up the gutter, and towards the suite's balcony. The stairway wasn't worth the risk of running into someone.

The backpack, bloated with stolen goods, dangled behind him with noisy thumps, and his loose shoes rattled on his feet, leaving him to rely on his arms to haul himself up.

On his way to the hotel, he'd stopped at a local department store, _before_ its opening hours. He'd strode right in and taken what he'd needed - medicine, food, supplies, a bag to carry it all in, and, of course, new clothes. Security systems and cameras posed no threat, after all, and now that he was already the suspect in his best friend's murder, what did shoplifting matter?

Killua climbed over the railing and onto the balcony with a silent thud. He'd taken one outfit that was intentionally too big, along with gloves and a hooded coat. Maybe the large footprints would throw off the police, and the gloves would prevent accidental fingerprints. The last thing he wanted to do was leave anymore 'evidence' in that room.

He studied the balcony doors, their tinted glass surrendering nothing but silhouettes of the space inside.

It wasn't that he'd wanted to come back...it was that he'd had no choice but to. Someone had murdered his best friend. Someone had framed him for it. Someone was determined to destroy both of their lives.

He wasn't going to run, not this time. He was going to avenge Gon and clear his own name. Whoever did this was going to regret it. Oh, how they'd regret it. He wasn't going to kill them until they begged for it.

Killua grimaced at his reflection in the glass. No. He couldn't let anger get away with him. Not grief, either. He simply needed to do what had to be done. That was it.

He grabbed the door and twisted the knobs. It wouldn't budge. Locked. Not with an electric lock, either, but with an old-style key and bolt. Still, what kind of ex-assassin couldn't pick a lock? He elongated his nails and dug into the innards of the thing. The door clicked open with little resistance.

His hands returned to the handles, but this time, he stopped.

...Just what was he going to see, inside?

A familiar face. Blood. Death. Sixteen.

One night had passed since the crime, and it was difficult to predict what the cops might, or might not, have messed with. He didn't want to see that scene again.

No. He shoved the images from his head. It was just another body. Just another crime. He'd seen countless others in his seventeen years. Far too many, really.

He swallowed, and slid open the doors.

The room opened up in shapes and shadows. His heart pounded in his throat, his swimming senses trying to make sense of the dark. His eyes flew towards the kitchen.

Nothing.

Well, almost nothing. White lines, and what looked like scraps of paper on the ground, were the only remnants of the crime.

The tension dissolved with a slow breath. For a while, he simply stood there, staring.

The police had done fast work. Perhaps because of the high profile of the case, or perhaps pressured by the luxury hotel, they'd replaced the darkness of the crime with clinical marks and notes. It was hard to believe that, just the night before, the same kitchen had been painted red – his memories could have come from another world.

All that remained of his friend was white tape. It outlined a human silhouette on the tile and cupboard, as if Gon had simply disappeared into the floor. An anonymous shape, that could've belonged to anyone. Glaring down the blank scene, the horror in his head didn't seem real, as if these were the remnants of any other crime, and the memories, just the remnants of another bad dream.

The scream of an angry car horn snapped him out of the reverie, and he realized he was still standing between the balcony doors. He quickly stepped inside and closed them behind him.

Alone in the room, he sucked in a breath - the tang of blood replaced by the sting of chemicals and bleach - and dragged his feet towards the kitchen.

While the body and the stains were gone, notes and photos denoted the grotesqueries and the evidence that had once been there. He tried not to look too closely at the images - they were already burned into the back of his eyes - but scanned over the notes. One described the condition of the body - sixteen stab wounds, nothing he didn't already know - with a remark to see some police file for more details, while several marked the positions and patterns of blood splatter. One labeled the locations of suspect footprints. He snorted. Never mind that any real examination would show that he'd only entered through the door, walked to the kitchen, and stood in place. The cops would find some way to disregard any evidence inconvenient to their story.

Dissatisfied, Killua turned away from that domestic hellhole, and scanned the rest of the suite.

Some of the less morbid aftermath of the crime had seemingly been left untouched. There were a few broken dishes by the edge of the kitchen, and a toppled chair in the dining room. Signs of a struggle, perhaps? He narrowed his eyes. The haphazard damage seemed inconsistent, somehow. There were no fingernail marks or dents - any indications of real desperation - and he couldn't quite make himself believe that a life or death struggle with a professional Hunter would've left such minor and inconsistent damage. A flicker of instinct told him the damage was staged. Gon would've put up more of a fight than this.

Why, though? Was someone trying to fake a crime seen? Had the murder actually happened somewhere else? That seemed unlikely, what with the sheer amount of blood in that kitchen. Were they trying to conceal the nature of the attack? Had there been a struggle, at all? Perhaps they'd taken Gon by surprise, before he'd even had the chance to fight back. Perhaps they'd tried to make the whole thing seem more chaotic - more angry - than it had really been. Such overkill usually indicated rage, after all. Perhaps they'd tried to paint the picture of a bitter best friend, descending into wrath, with what had actually been little more than a cold, premeditated assassination.

Killua wondered again just how many of those sixteen strikes Gon had actually survived, but a bitter bile rose in the back of his throat, and he swallowed those thoughts down with it.

Instead, he ambled about the rest of the suite, searching for every potential entrance and exit with the eyes not of a Hunter, but an assassin, trained to watch for every opportunity and escape route.

The room didn't offer much. There were the balcony doors, a kitchen window, a bedroom window, and the exit to the hotel hallway. None showed any sign of forced entrance, and there weren't any vents or pipes large enough for anyone to sneak through. Either Gon had indeed let his own killer inside, or the culprit, like him, hadn't been fazed by locked windows or doors.

His eyes returned to the balcony. There was no way they could've gone out to the hallway, covered in as much blood as they'd surely been, so they must've fled to the streets. But with so many people around, how could no one have noticed them?

He found himself looking at the entrance to the bathroom, and the shower inside. If they had indeed managed a surprise attack...and if they'd managed to silence Gon before he screamed...it was possible that they could've cleaned themselves up before leaving. After all, with that text message, they'd had control over when the body would be discovered.

Killua gritted his teeth and approached the shower. There were no notes indicating that any evidence had been left behind there, so if the culprit had rinsed off, it had likely been clothes and all. They would've been sopping wet, then, but not bloodied. They wouldn't have had much trouble going unnoticed on the busy, late night streets.

He stepped inside the shower, but the whole thing seemed pristine. Almost too much so. If they had cleaned away evidence, they'd done a damn good job of cleaning up afterwards, too. He ran his fingers along the tiled wall. Still slightly damp. The tub must've been used at least somewhat recently, but that didn't necessarily mean that it had been the culprit that night, and not a simple, unsuspecting shower yesterday morning.

Killua swallowed, about to step back out, when a glimmer caught his eye. He blinked, kneeling down. The shimmer came from deep inside the drain. Huh.

Not wanting to knock whatever it was further down into the pipes, he held his hand above the drain and focused his aura into a magnetic pull. Sure enough, the thing was metal, and flew up into his palm. He closed his fingers around it - something flat and sharp - and brought it up to examine.

It was a badge - a metal pin in the shape of a moon with the face of a skull. A shiver tingled up his spine and into the back of his memories. An unease he didn't quite understand flooded through him. It seemed...familiar, somehow, but -

His heart stopped beating.

* * *

_Blood splashed the room like red rain. Drops hit Killua's cheek and left behind a warm, sticky tingle. He didn't move, only watching from behind the bench, where he hid himself with Zetsu._

_All that remained of the Hunter who'd stood in the doorway moments before was crimson splatter, bits of tissue and skin stuck to the wall, and splinters of bone on the floor. His gun clattered to the marble tile with a metallic clunk. The man – his subordinate – had been reduced to an anonymous mess in less than three seconds. And he wasn't the first._

_Killua fought to keep his arms from shaking, crouching on all fours beneath the shadows of the furniture and the decor of the embassy. His heart clamored for oxygen, but instead of risking tense, noisy breaths, he chose to barely breathe at all, his body almost entirely still. _

_Moonlight filtered in through the stained glass windows, illuminating the room in jagged slashes of light. With the white glow reflecting off his silver hair and pale skin, shaded in the night, Killua looked like a ghost, but the stranger, the moon glistening red and black off the blood on their cloak, looked like a demon._

_Killua's senses swirled as the enemy stepped through the remnants of his subordinate and into the next hallway. The room where the queen of Everstine slept wasn't far away, now. They would reach it soon._

_He forced himself to creep along after them, silent, like a cat stalking a mouse. Except he definitely wasn't the predator, here._

_His eyes watched with cold horror as another man in his band of bodyguards rushed down the stranger. He'd whispered into the radio several minutes ago, allowing his subordinates the choice to fight or flee, but nearly every Hunter stood their ground, still trying to protect the queen, as they'd promised Everstine they would._

_The man raised a sword, blade shimmering with Nen. There was an instant - a blink - and then his body exploded like a macabre firework._

_The enemy continued walking, right through the red rain, not skipping a beat in their slow march towards the foreign queen. They hadn't even allowed the bodyguards the chance to scream. It was unlikely that the royal even knew what was coming._

_Panic gnawed at Killua's pulse. This couldn't be happening. _

_He pushed himself forward with all of his willpower, sneaking passed and ahead of the stranger in the shadows. He told himself that he would wait by the next door, and ambush them as they passed. They were so focused on the path ahead that they'd yet to notice him. Perhaps he could catch them by surprise. Perhaps he could kill them before they had the chance to fight back._

Don't do it!_ An instinct inside him wailed. _You'll die!_ The resolution faded from his steps as the fear spread, pumped through his veins by his pounding heart. The stranger was once again nearing him, continuing their executioner's march. _Don't do it!_ The moment he attacked, he'd become just another smear on the floor. Everything in him screamed at him to flee._

_This couldn't be happening. _

_The lone assassin had appeared right through the front door. Then, they'd simply walked, erasing anyone who stood in their path. There was something almost otherworldly about it – the way they moved towards their target, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. He didn't understand it. Their aura blazed with dark intent, but its power wasn't particularly remarkable, and it never changed or surged. What was this killer doing? _How_ were they doing it? Were they even using Nen, at all? Just a glance, it seemed, and any opposition, no matter how strong, was destroyed in an instant._

_He thought of Nanika, and how anyone who failed three requests disintegrated into nothing more than bloodied mist. And somehow, that terrified him more than anything. The strangeness of it. The unknown. _

_Not so long ago, his brother had, quite literally, cursed him with fear. Never fight a battle you aren't certain you'll win. That was the command he'd grown up hearing, and ultimately, the one his brother had used to control him. Eventually, he'd managed to escape his brother's grip, and he'd learned to fight through fear. He wasn't a killing machine anymore, acting only on cold odds and analysis, but a human, driven also by instinct and determination._

_But this time, it wasn't that he wasn't sure whether or not he would win. It was that he _knew_ he wouldn't. How could he fight something he didn't understand? Something so instant? _

_Voices swam around inside his head._

Is your honor worth more than your life?_ They asked._

_But, he'd sworn to fight for the queen, at any cost. He was the captain of the squad, responsible for the lives and successes of his subordinates. He'd begged for this responsibility. _

Trying to protect her now would only be a formality. You can't save her, _they said_. Why should you die, too?

_He swallowed, his throat tight and dry._

Never fight a battle you aren't certain you'll win_, they said. _

Killua, I had fun! Let's meet up again soon, when you're done with your next job!_ They said. _

_And, _Brother, be careful, okay? I'm going to practice making cookies while you're gone. Come back before bedtime, so you can try them while they're warm!

_The stranger strode further into the heart of the embassy, where more Hunters would surely die trying and failing to stop them, and where they would soon, with certainty, reach the queen. Moonlight glistened red and black off their rippling cloak. And as they passed him, the light caught the silver shimmer of a badge on their lapel - a moon with the face of a skull._

_Instead of following, Killua did something he hadn't in a long time._

_He ran._

* * *

Metal edges drew blood from Killua's tight, sweaty fingers.

It couldn't be, some irrational part of him screamed, but the rest of him knew better. He unclenched his fist and forced himself to look at the thing.

It was the same symbol he'd seen that night. That same moon with that same bony face.

He gritted his teeth, drenched with icy realization as the skeletal moon stared back up at him, like the ghost of a bad dream. Someone wearing this badge had been inside this room. There was only one conclusion that could lead to. His heart kicked back into action, beating faster with the remnants of two-year-old fears.

The same person - or people, more likely - who had ruined his career had returned, and this time, they'd taken much more from him than merely his reputation. His best friend was gone, and his already tarnished name had been ripped to tatters.

Damn it.

It made sense, after all. The person he'd once seen wearing the badge clearly hadn't been afraid of Hunters. But why? He could understand the queen of Everstine - a much maligned and controversial country - but why Gon? Why would someone like them come after someone like him?

_Unless it's you they're haunting_, that same irrational voice said.

He brushed the paranoia away. No. If that were the case, they would've come after him directly. Or worse, Alluka. Besides, it wasn't like they had any reason to target him, or any revenge to take. Not when he'd failed so spectacularly to stop them, the first time.

Rage stiffened his muscles as the shock slowly subsided.

Still, the culprit had framed _him_. The text, the calls to the police... Had he merely been the convenient culprit, or had they not yet ruined his reputation enough? Maybe whoever did this just had a sick sense of humor.

Damn it! Killua fought the urge to hurl the badge at the wall. Why? Why had they come back? He'd done everything he could to put the Everstine incident behind him, and yet... Why him? Why Gon? Why -

A door creaked open.

He whirled towards the bathroom exit. A sliver of light seeped into the hallway, from the direction of the door that connected the room to the rest of the hotel. Footsteps faded into focus.

Someone had just entered the room.

He cursed beneath his breath. Usually, he could hear someone coming from a long ways away, always aware of his surroundings, and always sure that he had enough time to escape, if needed. But this time, he'd been so absorbed by the badge - and everything that came with it - that he hadn't realized someone was there. It was too late. There was no way he could leave the bathroom unseen.

Instead, he scanned the small room for somewhere to hide. There wasn't much. His eyes settled on the cupboard under the sink. It would have to do.

He leapt out of the tub, with the silence of a cat, and vanished into the cupboard, careful not to knock over extra bottles of shampoo and hotel toiletries. He left the door open just a crack - just enough to see into the rest of the room. He steadied out his Zetsu, and his breathing, too.

The footsteps neared. Who was it? The police? If he was lucky, perhaps they wouldn't bother coming inside the bathroom. After all, the cops didn't seem to have noticed anything suspicious about it...and they certainly hadn't noticed the badge shimmering from inside the drain. His fingers tightened around the metal moon.

A silhouette stepped passed the door. It wasn't an officer. It was a stranger in a hoodie, their face and figure obscured by their baggy clothes, much like his own. Confusion perked up his senses. Who the hell...?

He heard the intruder rattling around, quietly, in the rest of the suite. The kitchen. The living room. The bedroom. Were they looking for something? The minutes ticked by.

Killua ground his jaw. Tch. This was pathetic. Once an assassin and a pro Hunter, now he was hiding in a cupboard, like a bumbling home burglar.

The footsteps once again grew louder, and the silhouette reappeared in the hallway. At first, he thought they were heading for the hotel door. But then they turned, towards the bathroom.

Damn. He sucked in his breath as the figure stepped inside.

Still, this might be an opportunity. He could get a better look at the intruder. If he could only see their face...

He couldn't. The hoodie obscured it with shadow, worn so far down that he wondered how the stranger saw anything, at all. They walked with purpose, straight towards the tub.

A jolt of fear shot through him.

He'd been right. They were looking for the badge. The killer had washed themselves off in the shower, and had lost the pin in the process. Now, someone had come back for it, retracing the killer's steps through the suite in pursuit of the accidental piece of evidence.

...Was he looking at the culprit?

His nails flexed, digging deeper into his palms.

_Killua's senses swirled as the enemy stepped through the remnants of his subordinate and into the next hallway. The room where the queen of Everstine slept wasn't far away, now. They would reach it soon._

...Was this the same person who'd killed the queen of Everstine?

No. He narrowed his eyes through the crack in the door. The clothes obscured most of the stranger's shape, but even still, he could see that they were shorter than the ghost in his memories. Shorter, but perhaps better built. They didn't have that same wispy shape. A flicker of relief let him swallow some of the tension in his throat.

The stranger bent down, as he had just minutes before, and peered down the drain. The metal badge clenched in his fist suddenly felt colder.

What should he do? Should he confront them? If this was indeed the culprit, he could end this whole disaster in one swoop. He could beat the truth out of them. Torture them until they confessed. Take revenge.

He inhaled, fear and fury fighting for control over him. Bloodstained memories drifted by.

But...what if this person was as strong as the wraith in his memories? They must have been powerful, to have defeated Gon. Even if he took them by surprise, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't surprise him. There was no guarantee that it wouldn't end in an instant. After all, he didn't know anything about this stranger, or their abilities.

_The man raised a sword, blade shimmering with Nen. There was an instant - a blink - and then his body exploded like a macabre firework._

He focused his Nen to his eyes and studied them. Nothing. Either this person wasn't a Nen-user, or they had hidden themselves - and their power - with Zetzu, just as he had. In fact, their _lack_ of presence made that highly likely. He hadn't felt anyone nearby - only their footsteps had announced their presence.

_The lone assassin had appeared right through the front door. Then, they'd simply walked, erasing anyone who stood in their path. There was something almost otherworldly about it – the way they moved towards their target, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world._

An instinct - or was it fear? - held him in place. For now, he simply watched.

The stranger looked away from the drain, and stepped out of the tub. They hadn't found what they were looking for. After a last glance around, they left the bathroom.

_You're losing your chance_, a voice screamed at him, but Killua brushed it off. He would follow them, he decided. He'd observe - he'd see where they were going, and find out whatever he could about this person who was searching for the skeletal moon. This wasn't the place for a confrontation. Not when the police might show up at any moment. He'd wait for a better opportunity before he attacked. _Coward_.

Before much longer, he heard the suspect open the door to the hotel hallway. They left the suite, empty handed.

Realizing that he'd lose them if he left the same way he'd come, Killua carefully departed the creaky cupboard and risked entry to the inn's corridors. He emerged just in time to see the stranger vanish into the stairwell.

* * *

Killua clung to the shadows, stalking the stranger as they wound through the city streets. It was mid-morning now, Everstine aglow with the noises of daily life. The chattering crowds and humming cars helped mask him, and he relied on the bustle and on Zetzu to stay close to the suspect, unnoticed.

Soon, the stranger turned off the main streets, and down a nearby alley. Without the crowds to camouflage him, Killua dropped back a few feet, careful not to lose sight of his target amongst the twists and turns of the city's innards.

Just where was this stranger taking him, anyway? What was he going to see when they got there? Sweat beaded on his brow. How many of these bastards - the ones who wore the skeletal moon - were there? Was he going to be able to attack, at all?

If there were too many of them, he wouldn't be able to risk it. Perhaps he should attack now, after all, while the stranger was still alone. He could force them to confess their destination, along with the rest of the truth.

He faltered.

Yeah. He should attack now, but...

_If they did that to Gon_, doubt whispered, _then what makes you think you can win?_

A candy wrapper crunched beneath his feet.

The enemy whirled, their hooded gaze flying backwards.

Shit. Distracted by his thoughts, he'd neglected to pay attention to the dirty sidewalk beneath him, and now a piece of trash had announced his presence. He swung into the shade of a dumpster.

The stranger scanned the alley.

Killua stopped breathing. He'd screwed up. He had no where else to hide, and if he didn't act fast, they'd find him. He'd lose the element of surprise. And without it...

He needed to strike first, while he still had the advantage.

The suspect stepped closer.

Killua leapt, his nails ready to rip and tear, and his palms charged with electricity.

The enemy must have sensed something. They threw themselves to the side, just a second to spare.

Killua flew passed them, hitting nothing but the cement. He whirled, heart pounding.

Something washed through him as they looked at each other.

In the chaos, the stranger must have lost their own Zetzu. For an instant, an energy crackled through him. An energy that wasn't his own. He _felt_ them.

...Familiarity? Recognition? Shock?

Whoever it was he was looking at, face and features still hidden beneath their coat, they recognized him. And they were more than a little surprised to see him.

And then the feeling was gone.

The enemy was already running.

Blue electricity rippled through Killua's muscles, his hair and his senses rising with the current. He surged after them at Godspeed. If whoever this was knew him, then they should know that they had no chance of escape.

The stranger - who perhaps wasn't a stranger, at all - hurtled around corners and turns, trying to lose him in Everstine's guts. They'd reactivated Zetzu - they didn't intend to attack, it seemed, but vanish.

Killua's confidence surged back as quickly as the current. The bastard could run all they wanted, but within the next sixty seconds, he'd catch them.

Cars honked and brakes squealed as the suspect barreled out across the street, and into the next alley. Killua followed without hesitation, barely registering the startled and angry shouts as he blazed by.

Why, though? He still didn't understand it. Why was the enemy running, and not fighting back? If they really were the culprit - and if they really were as strong as he'd feared, strong enough to defeat Gon - then why would they run, at all? Was this a trap? Were they leading him away from the city? ...Who was it?

He remembered that feeling again - those foreign feelings tangling with his own, that foreign sense of shocked recognition. This wasn't someone who'd merely recognized him from a headline on the daily news. This was someone who _knew_ him. Out of everyone in his life, who would've gone to that hotel room, searching for that skeletal moon?

"Who are you?" He shouted, his tongue forming the question without his permission. He was gaining on them.

The suspect never faltered, swinging around another corner without so much as looking back.

Tch. As if he'd expected an answer. No matter. He'd have them soon. Then he'd find out.

Killua pushed his limbs until they burned, blue sparks flying behind him. When he turned, the enemy was only feet away. Just one big leap, and -

A second shape sprung from the alley. Another figure, this one cloaked in the same wispy black as the demon who'd come for the queen of Everstine.

Killua jerked back, horror sending sparks into the air, but the stranger didn't leap for him.

Instead, they reached out for the suspect. It wasn't an attack, but an embrace. The suspect fell into the arms of this second stranger, and the long cloak obscured them from view.

A light flashed.

Killua clamped his eyes shut, the glow stinging through his lids. His heart thudded, limbs slick with sweat. ...What the hell?

When the light faded enough to crack open his gaze, he saw nothing. He blinked. Nothing at all. The space in front of him was empty, as if the two enemies had never been there. They'd disappeared.

Damn. Killua practically leapt up the wall of a building. He stood on the roof and searched the alleys below.

Nothing. He saw nothing but a few drunks lingering near the streets. The suspect was gone. He grimaced, focusing his aura into his eyes, but they'd left no trace of their presence behind.

He finally sucked in a breath. The current faded, his hair and his muscles drooping as the adrenaline drained out of him. They'd escaped. He narrowed his eyes at the city below.

How? Had they simply used the light as cover...or had there been more to it than that? Either way, it was certain now that he wasn't dealing with just one person.

He reached into his pocket, fingers trembling with rage as they wrapped around the badge. With the adrenaline gone, all that remained was a cold, churning wrath. Who? Who'd done this to Gon? Who was doing this to him? When he glared down at the pin, the moon's bony face almost looked like it was laughing.

Whoever it was, they'd regret it.

* * *

_Heheh, one hint I will give is that if Killua had caught the stranger before they escaped, the story would've gone in a completely different direction. So, numerous characters had their fates sealed by a matter of a few seconds.  
_

_Anyway, I would say that I'll try and update faster, but after what happened last time I said that, I'll just say see you soon!_

_-R.R._


End file.
